


Band-Aid for a Broken Arm

by MorganEAshton



Category: The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: Each two chapters are the same scene; first Indrid's POV then Duck's, I'll make it easily skippable for minors and the sex-repulsed, Illustrated, Illustrations have alt text, M/M, One picture per chapter, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Tags will be updated as relevant, Touch-Starved Indrid Cold, Trans Duck Newton, Trauma Discussion, Unreliable Narrator, Will contain sexual content in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganEAshton/pseuds/MorganEAshton
Summary: Duck doesn't need to be fixed; he just needs to be understood.Indrid doesn't need to change; he just needs to allow what he's denied.





	1. One: Indrid

**Author's Note:**

> During my hiatus from [Running Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080216), I started this story. This one's big for me. The sentiment of the title is something I VERY recently came to terms with in my own life. This is also the first time I'll be writing sexual content since realizing I'm a trans man, and that I've been an mlm this whole time. Indrid and Duck are both characters I relate to on a deeply personal level, and so this fic serves for me to work through some of my own trauma in a fictional setting. Note that there are some emotional rough patches in this, but the characters just need to move through it so they can come out stronger on the other side. I don't write angst for the sake of angst.
> 
> A couple things:  
> \--This takes place outside canon, in sort of a nebulous fic-specific timeframe where Indrid's back in Kepler and the Pine Guard sometimes visit him. Just roll with it. XD  
> \--Duck's told Indrid about Leo and Minerva. Indrid also already knows Leo from Leo's Chosen days, and from going to his store for ~~nog~~ groceries.
> 
> Updates will be a little slow on this one, because of the illustrations. And yes, even though pairs of chapters are the same scene, each chapter will have a unique picture.
> 
> Chapter beta'd by [VigilantShadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow)!

Indrid is pulling on a coat and locking up his Winnebago when he hears the telltale sound of tires on gravel. Right on time. He twirls his keyring around his finger as he turns to watch the driver, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," Duck greets as he steps out of his work truck. He gives Indrid a curious once-over before understanding dawns across his face. "This for me?" A couple weeks ago, the ranger would have asked a different kind of question. Perhaps, "Oh, is this a bad time?" or "Where're ya' headed, Indrid?" He's learning.

"Mh-hm. I saw that you were likely to become irritated at the heat in my home if we stayed here, and that you'd enjoy this chat more if we took a stroll." The small sacrifice to his own comfort seems a good way of showing his thanks. It's refreshing to know he's not the only one making an effort to be mindful of how others think. It feels good to know someone's trying to accommodate him, too.

"That's mighty appreciated." Duck falls into step beside him. "How mucha this have y'already seen?"

He ponders that. He's glimpsed a couple different ways this conversation could go, but he avoided drawing them or dwelling on any one possibility. Most of what he picked up told him that Duck would be happier if he were allowed to talk things out, so that's what Indrid will let him do. "Only a very basic understanding of the general situation and likely trajectories. Why don't you fill in the details for me?" He slows to allow Duck to take the lead.

Duck realizes he's getting ahead almost immediately, and looks over his shoulder. "Why're you back there, partner?"

Indrid chuckles and shakes his head. Should he explain? "From behind you, I can't see your mouth. My visions lack sound, so what I know of a conversation depends on my ability to read others' lips. If I can keep my viewpoint from wandering, I can't get ahead of you."

"So you can control what you see? That's a neat trick."

"To a degree. Seeing comes more naturally than not seeing, so it takes some effort." He smiles. "I've learned some workarounds over the years, but no need to go into that now. This is about you, not me. I promise I'm right behind you, Duck. Not to worry."

"Guess it might be good, anyhow." He shoves his hands in his pockets and gets back to walking, face tilted towards the trees. "This is a little embarrassin'."

He follows Duck's gaze and tries to keep his eyes from wandering towards the futures flitting around his periphery. He does occasionally check for dangers or events of interest in the forest, but he tries to ignore the ones revealing his companion's intent.

"So, other day was the weekly Pine Guard lunch. Barclay started it a few months back, said it'd be a good way to keep the team bonded and all that. I ain't ever missed one, but it's been gettin' harder and harder to make it there on time. I weren't exactly in the best mood, and Aubrey and Ned started ribbin' me about it."

He's seen some of those meals. He doesn't make a habit of spying, but Amnesty Lodge and the Pine Guard come up frequently in his visions. It's as if fate knows they're important, or perhaps it's just that they're important to Indrid himself. The lunches look...nice, with Barclay's home cooking, a fire in the hearth, warm wood and plush fabrics all around. Sometimes Mama will join them, or Moira will be visible in the background playing the piano. Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD is almost always there with his own little dish of greens, and he looks so soft. Indrid tries not to envy Duck, nor to judge him for taking for granted what he has. He mostly succeeds and just ends up feeling kind of sad. "What was wrong?"

Duck gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Nothin' in particular. Everything's been harder lately."

Ah, that makes sense. He kind of wants to reach out and touch Duck's shoulder, but he's not sure if that would be alright.

"I know I haven't exactly been fun to be around since I lost my powers. I get it. Even Juno's gettin' tired of me mopin' around, and she's been my best friend long as I can remember." He sighs. "Aubrey and Ned kinda took it on themselves after the last abomination to try an' make me feel better, and they've been, I dunno, puttin' me through the works. Hot springs, vitamins, movie nights. Aubrey took me clothes shoppin' and went with me to get my hair cut, thinkin' maybe it'd help refresh me or somethin'. Ned dragged me to get French onion soup again. And yeah, I appreciate it and all, but it's a little..." He snaps his fingers a few times, "Ah, shit, it's on the tip of my tongue."

Indrid cheats a bit and lets his viewpoint broaden, checks the futures to see if Duck fills in the word he wants in any of them. "Contrived?"

"Yeah! That's the one." He sits down on a felled log and gives Indrid a tired, lopsided grin. "I tried to cheer up for 'em. I really did. But I was feelin' like shit the other day and I got kinda, like, snippy?"

Indrid sits and picks up a stick, and uses it to sketch in the dirt to distract himself from looking at Duck's face.

"Anyway, Aubrey finally got sick of it and snapped back, like 'Jesus, Duck. When's the last time you got laid?' And I just up and left."

He's glad he's turned away, because he splutters in genuine shock, and that's not becoming of a seer at all.

Duck doesn't comment on it. He just keeps going. "I couldn't fuckin' believe she'd ask that. Then Ned laughed, and I just couldn't deal."

"Have you brought it up with them?"

"Nah, not yet. Tried talkin' to Juno about it, but she didn't get why I was so upset. She said I was blowin' it outta proportion, but, I mean, she an' Tom have been married for like 15 years now. And 'course Aubrey's got Dani, and I think Ned's maybe been seein' someone, too."

Indrid's drawing is turning into a deer, and he peeks up to see a stag standing in the trees watching them. The light reflecting off his glasses spooks it, and it bolts before he can tell Duck to look. He should have paid more attention to the timelines, been more careful. He bets Duck would have liked seeing that. He can’t change the past, but he'll keep an eye out for other opportunities. After a few beats of awkward silence, he realizes he's expected to respond. "Why does it matter if the others are partnered?"

Duck picks up another stick and leans to draw a couple simple birds flying over the deer's head. "I dunno, it just seemed kinda unfair. Like bein' the only single guy on Valentine's and havin' everyone else gang up on you to try and get you a date."

He can't relate. Of the human holidays, that one has always seemed one of the least comprehensible. Not to mention Indrid's never been around enough people on the day to have anyone comment on his relationship status. "Do you wish you had a significant other?"

Duck sets the stick down and leans on his knees. "Can't say I usually give it much thought, but..." His head drops. "I'm gonna turn 45 this year, an' I can't pretend I ain't old anymore. Not when I feel like this. Bein' a pathetic old bachelor is just icin' on the cake, y'know? And havin' Aubrey of all people bring attention to it...."

45 years is nothing to a sylph. He realizes for the first time that Duck wasn't even alive when Silver Bridge fell. Indrid's been living alone in RVs for this man's entire lifespan. None of that is applicable to this conversation, though. Duck is a human, and if he lives a normal human life he's around halfway through his years on Earth. That's meaningful. "I don't see why it's any of their business."

"It ain't! And sometimes it feels like only other single people get that. That's why I came to you. I mean, I guess Leo mighta been cool, but this don't feel like somethin' I can talk to him about." He cringes. "Shit, unless I'm wrong. You're not datin' someone, are you? I just realized I don't actually know for sure...."

"No, Duck." Indrid smirks, amused. "I'm a pathetic old bachelor, too."

"Fuck! That's not what I--shit!" He slaps his forehead. "Goddamnit, Duck, can't even fuckin' have a chat with a guy without dunkin' it up and insultin' him...."

Indrid's laughing now. "It's fine. I'm not upset. It's true, after all."

He groans, covering his face. His ears and neck are bright red.

He decides that perhaps this might be a good time for that shoulder touch. He sets his hand down tentatively, careful not to startle the ranger, then rubs lightly. He tries to ignore the thrill that touch sends through him. Duck doesn't need to know how much he's been craving contact since he started visiting with the Pine Guard. "I'm glad you felt you could come to me with this."

He scrubs his palms over his face a few times, then inhales deeply. "Can I tell ya' somethin' real personal?"

"If you want to."

"Sex has always been a weird subject for me, for a lotta reasons. Half the reason I walked on lunch was just...it felt real invasive. Kinda made my skin crawl."

"It is a very private thing to be asked, particularly out of the blue."

"I used to get called a prude a lot, growin' up. It ain't really that. I'm just--" He looks up through the canopy, into the sky. "I haven't always been comfortable in my own skin, an' after Minerva showed up it didn't really feel like I could let anyone in. Dated a few people since then, yeah, but it never really," he breathes out through his nose, "mattered. Couldn't afford for it to."

Indrid does relate to that. He knows his situation is different from Duck's, but he thinks he understands enough to at least offer some empathy. He thinks about what to say, and checks Duck's likely reactions to make sure he won't overstep any boundaries or make the other man uncomfortable before he speaks. "You had the luxury of normal relationships stolen from you at a young age, and now you've lost so much more. I think it's natural to be upset."

"Yeah." He's so quiet. It's a little hard to hear him over the sounds of creatures and rustling leaves. "I know Aubrey wasn't tryin' to rub it in, but it still--it fuckin' blew, man."

He's looking at Duck's face so he doesn't miss his words, and it brings the futures back full-force. "Was it just that question that bothered you?" He knows the answer to that. He knows about twelve variations on the answer to that, from less likely extremes to a more plausible middle ground. All of them share the same theme. They coalesce into one just before the ranger speaks.

"You know, I think the whole thing has. This whole deal with them tryin' to cheer me up. Is that wrong 'a me?" He hunches into himself. "I know it's kinda shitty, to be pissed at my friends 'cause they want me to be happy."

"I'd find it frustrating." He knows Duck's going to ask him why, so he considers his answer. "I think I'd wonder at which point it stopped being about me at all."

Duck doesn't respond. He picks his stick back up and draws a spiral in the dirt, then looks at Indrid. "You look cold."

"I'm used to it. If I couldn't handle being chilly, I would be barely functional."

Duck shakes his head. "Still shouldn't have to freeze your ass off for my sake. Come on, let's head back to your 'bago. I'll take a turn bein' too hot."

Indrid chuckles softly. "I'll turn a couple of heaters off for you."

He gets up and offers a hand, then helps Indrid to his feet. "You sure?"

"Yes, I can always turn them back on when you're ready to go." He's a little torn. On one hand, he really would like to warm up. On the other, he was hoping they'd be out long enough to make up for scaring off the deer. "Hold on a moment." He stands still and closes his eyes so he can concentrate and pick up on the more subtle futures. They bleed together into one montage, like a waking dream. He lets them sweep through his mind as he searches for interesting details. He finds something, and it makes him gasp. He checks that Duck really will enjoy this, to make sure it isn't only for himself.

"What's up?"

"Come with me. We need to make a stop first."

Duck gives him a puzzled look, but follows.

Indrid tries not to get too far ahead with his longer legs, but when they get close to their destination he has a little more trouble holding back his excitement and ends up arriving while Duck is quite a ways behind him.

The ranger catches up, winded but intrigued, and leans in to look at what Indrid's pointing out. When he sees, his face breaks into a grin. Before him is a delicate chrysalis on a tree, the butterfly inside already beginning to eclose. "Aw, cool! I always miss this! Is that an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail? Looks like it's got dark wings, so it's a female if it is."

Indrid smiles and huddles in close, both so he can see and so he can leech Duck's body heat. He's not sure what kind of butterfly it is, but it's fascinating nonetheless to watch his tiny distant relative come into the world.

Duck babbles excitedly for a while, throwing out butterfly facts seemingly at random as he remembers them: The states in which the Eastern Tiger Swallowtail is the state butterfly. The name of the fluid the insect is pumping from its abdomen into its wings. Taxonomic information. How this is considered a helpful species.

Indrid is listening, but he's also watching the futures carefully. "Duck."

He cuts himself off partway through describing this butterfly's favorite types of flower. "Yeah?"

"Hold your hand straight out," he demonstrates, "and press your fingertips against the branch above our new friend here." He checks to see how much longer they’re going to be there before they’re able to go in. As much as he’s enjoying this, he’s quickly approaching his cold tolerance.

Duck does so. The butterfly taps his fingers with its antennae, and then crawls up to hang off of him. He holds his breath and stays totally still. After a few more moments, it flexes its new wings and flutters off, doing a circle around him before it disappears off into the forest. The ranger looks delighted. "That was amazin', Indrid."

"It worked out. I scared off the deer I was drawing earlier before you could see it, and I felt bad. I think perhaps this was better?"

His smile is big, but still tinged with melancholy and exhaustion. "Thanks." He notices Indrid's shivering and grabs his hand. "Come on, let's get you inside."

Huh.

It's always impressive how good Duck's sense of direction is, here in the Monongahela. Even after being dragged off in a random direction, he has no problem picking his way back to the campground with Indrid in tow. He lets go when they arrive.

Indrid lets them in and gets two of his four heaters shut down. He changes out his coat for a cardigan, and takes Duck's jacket and helmet.

"You cleaned up."

"Yes, I figure I ought to start putting some effort into keeping things presentable, if I'm going to continue having guests."

"It looks good, man." Duck settles onto the couch, sinking down into the cushions with his head dropped back.

"Do you want something to eat, or drink?"

"Gimme a nog."

Indrid saw it coming, but it still surprises him. He laughs, disbelieving. "Are you sure? I bought soda, and some light snacks."

Duck rolls his head to gaze sideways at Indrid and give a tired smirk. "It just feels wrong to come to your place and not have nog now."

"Well, I guess I'll save the sodas for Aubrey and Ned, then." He pours them both glasses of eggnog and settles beside Duck on the couch.

Duck rests and sips his drink, eyes closed. "Hey, Indrid. Is it cool if I'm, like, still not okay?" His expression is unsure, a little nervous.

"Duck, I'm not so presumptuous to think that I know better how to cheer you up than Aubrey or Ned do, and surely not more than your best friend would." He takes a swig, too. "No, I just don't often get to use my powers for something so...innocuous. When I failed to take advantage of the first stroke of good fortune, I wanted to try again. That's all."

"Well, it was real nice, and I sure am grateful for it. It just," he thinks through what he's going to say, then says along with Indrid, "doesn't fix it."

"Duck, I know better than most that things like this can't be fixed. Sometimes, you just have to admit to yourself that it's awful and you don't like it, and then do your best to move on and keep living."

He shifts to sit up more fully. "I fuckin' hate this. It blows."

"Yes, it does. I'm sorry."

Duck sets his glass on the floor beside his feet and puts his head in his hands. His breaths start coming out harsh and stuttering, and his shoulders shake. "I wish I could fix it, you know?"

"I do." He looks at the pictures tacked to his wall. "Unfortunately, anything you do to try and repair what's been broken in you is likely to be more than a little inadequate. Trying to paste over the cracks is like using a Band-aid for a broken arm." His voice is going unsteady, too. "Duck, this isn't what I want to tell you. I wish I had an answer that would make this easier on you, but I don't. The sooner you accept how much you're hurting and mourn what's been lost, the more able you'll be to cope."

"Is that what you do?"

"I try. I don't always succeed, and I surely don't claim to be good at this." He gestures to his living space. "But I've lived with unpleasant truths for a very long time, and the days where I'm more willing to accept the reality of my situation are the days when I can appreciate moments like earlier for what they are, instead of what I _wish_ they were."

Duck nods into his palms. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"The little moments aren't a cure, but, well--" he gently nudges Duck's shoulder. "They're nice, aren't they?"

"Yeah." His face is streaked with tears and his eyes are red, when he turns his face back up to look at the sylph. He looks absolutely miserable, but he's smiling.

Indrid gives an equally somber smile back.

"Thanks, Indrid." He rubs his biceps, although it's obviously not because he's cold. "I guess that's why all that stuff bothered me so much."

"Oh?" It's more a nudge for Duck to articulate his thoughts, than an actual question.

"I guess I felt like they were turnin' me into a DIY project. 'Give 'im a makeover and some good food, get 'im a date, get 'im laid. That'll make 'im better.' Just made me wanna scream at 'em." He pushes his hair out of his face. "I was havin' trouble enjoyin' myself, even when we were doin' stuff I like. Just kept feelin' like I had to paste on this smile so they'd stop thinkin' of me as a big ol' downer, but they wouldn't buy it. And I know they meant well, I just...."

"Acceptance is a difficult thing, for humans and sylphs alike. Nobody ever wants to hear bad news, especially not when it comes to someone they care about." He's intimately familiar with that fact. "They likely don't want to face the truth of your situation any more than you do."

Duck slumps back again. "Wish I at least knew if Minerva was okay. Not that we were real close or anythin'--hell, I learned the most about her the night her fuckin' planet got blasted with a meteor--but I still want her to be safe, y'know?"

There's nothing that can be said for that, so Indrid takes his hand. He sees no futures where it has a negative consequence, and Duck's taken the initiative to do so twice already this visit, so it feels like an appropriate method of comfort.

Duck's hand gives a squeeze. "You can't see anything about her, can you? You'd tell me if y'could, right?"

"I'll let you know if I find anything, but no. I don't know her fate any more than you do. I'm sorry."

He nods and sniffs.

"Hold on. I don't have tissues, but I'll grab you a clean roll of toilet paper?" He lets go and does so, then perches on the edge of the couch so he can face Duck more fully and hold the man's hand in both of his.

Duck takes the toilet paper and shifts to turn towards Indrid, too. Their knees bump awkwardly. His face is turned down so Indrid can't see his tears.

He looks at the smaller hand being swallowed by his bony fingers, concentrates on rubbing it consolingly so the ranger can keep some measure of privacy and dignity.

"Hey, Indrid," Duck slurs through his sorrow, "would it be weird to ask ya' to hold me?"

The request lights up a tangle of feelings in him. A fierce protectiveness, a touch-starved desperation. He wraps Duck in his arms before he can think too hard about it. He fights against his natural inclinations, in order to keep his focus in the present and on the man in his arms. Everything else is unimportant now. Everything else can be dealt with later.

Duck doesn't sob; he's wrung too dry for that. His cries come out stilted, and crushed under the weight of his burdens. They tear from his chest like an injured animal clawing its way out. Wet. Ragged. Pained.

Indrid never learned how to cry for himself. He cries for Duck, however.


	2. One: Duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck goes to Indrid hoping for some relief after a rough couple weeks, and it goes much deeper than he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, this is the same scene as in Chapter 1, from Duck's POV. Feel free to let me know if you feel that having the double-chapters like this is a good choice or not. Some later scenes will have a lot more divergence, but this one is mostly different due to what you see of their internal landscapes. I hope it's still enjoyable to read, even though the framework is familiar! Moreover, I hope it's an interesting recontextualization of what you've already read.
> 
> I'm _super_ happy with the illustration for this one, and I hope you like it, too! ♥
> 
> Chapter beta'd by [FaiaHae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaHae/pseuds/FaiaHae)!

Duck knows his visit is probably expected, but he's not sure it’ll be appreciated. He hopes Indrid doesn’t mind him just dropping in like this, but he supposes that he can just go if it’s an issue.

Indrid is outside, dressed for a colder season and locking his door. He finishes just before Duck kills the engine and turns to face him.

Duck greets Indrid with a "Hey," as he drops to the gravel of the Eastwood Campground and RV Park. His first inclination is to be sure he’s interrupting something, but then he remembers that Indrid can see the damn future. If he was trying to avoid Duck he probably wouldn't be coming out right as he arrived. “This for me?”

Indrid clips his keyring to his belt loop and starts strolling towards the treeline with leisurely steps. He’s moving slowly enough that he clearly expects to be joined. "Mh-hm. I saw that you were likely to become irritated at the heat in my home if we stayed here, and that you'd enjoy this chat more if we took a stroll."

“That’s mighty appreciated.” He means it. As interesting as visits with Indrid always are, the space heaters have been getting less and less tolerable as the weather’s warmed up. That's especially true on days like today, when Duck’s come straight from work and it only takes a light jacket to turn the temperature from chilly to perfect. "How mucha this have y'already seen?"

From the side, Indrid’s eyes are visible as they flick around in seemingly random directions. They keep snapping back to center, and even though Indrid has on his usual default smile (which has gotten less extreme the longer Duck’s known him), the corners of his mouth are tensing subtly each time he reins in his gaze. "Only a very basic understanding of the general situation and likely trajectories. Why don't you fill in the details for me?"

Over the next few steps Duck finds his head craning at an awkward angle as his companion lags behind. His first thought is he’s been caught peeking. “Why’re you back there, partner?”

Indrid doesn’t chide him as he expected. Instead, he chuckles and shakes his head almost fondly. "From behind you, I can't see your mouth. My visions lack sound, so what I know of a conversation depends on my ability to read others' lips. If I can keep my viewpoint from wandering, I can't get ahead of you."

He’s glad he asked, because he never could have guessed that answer. Every time he thinks he’s started to understand how Indrid’s powers work, he learns something new that makes the sylph seem even more mysterious. "So you can control what you see? That's a neat trick."

"To a degree. Seeing comes more naturally than not seeing, so it takes some effort. I've learned some workarounds over the years, but no need to go into that now. This is about you, not me. I promise I'm right behind you, Duck. Not to worry."

Telling Duck Newton not to worry is the quickest way to get him worrying, and this time is no exception. He doesn’t want Indrid to strain himself for his sake, but at the same time he really would like to have this conversation at his own pace. He has a little internal battle between the part of him that wants to put Indrid's needs first, and the part that was trained not to refuse others' generosity. After some deliberation, the latter wins out and he tries not to feel selfish. At least if the sylph can’t see his face, he won’t see if he makes a fool of himself. “Guess it might be good anyhow. This is a little embarrassin’.” He ignores his guilt in favor of appreciating how pretty the trees are this time of year. Everything’s green with new growth, and just about every plant that can flower is doing so. Spring would probably be his favorite season, if the others weren't so dang pretty in their own ways.

But now isn't the time for sightseeing. He came to talk to Indrid. “So, other day was the weekly Pine Guard lunch. Barclay started it a few months back, said it’d be a good way to keep the team bonded and all that. I ain’t ever missed one, but it’s been harder and harder to make it there on time. I weren’t exactly in the best mood, and Aubrey and Ned started ribbin’ me about it.”

“What was wrong?”

He shrugs. “Nothin’ in particular. Everything’s been harder lately.”

Indrid follows him just a little more closely.

“I know I haven’t exactly been fun to be around since I lost my powers. I get it. Even Juno’s gettin’ tired of me mopin’ around, and she’s been my best friend long as I remember." It's probably a good thing Duck hasn't hung out with Indrid much recently, so the guy's not already sick of him. "Aubrey and Ned kinda took it on themselves after the last abomination to try an’ make me feel better, and they’ve been, I dunno, puttin’ me through the works. Hot springs, vitamins, movie nights. Aubrey took me clothes shoppin’ and went with me to get my hair cut, thinkin’ maybe it’d help refresh me or somethin’. Ned dragged me to get French onion soup again.” The soup was good. The conversation? Debatable. “And yeah, I appreciate it and all, but it’s a little…” The word leaves him. He snaps, trying to jog his memory. “Ah, shit, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Contrived?” Of _course_ Indrid would be able to pull the exact right word out of the aether. Either the guy’s a great guess, or Duck actually thought of it in some parallel reality.

He likes to think it’s the latter. “Yeah! That’s the one.” There’s a felled log just down the path, so he takes advantage of nature’s generosity. He's more tired than he probably should be, after a casual stroll. He tells himself that it's because he's been walking all day, and maybe Indrid would appreciate a chance to sit, too. “I tried to cheer up for ‘em. I really did. But I was feelin’ like shit the other day and I got kinda, like, snippy?”

If Indrid has thoughts about that, he doesn’t share them. He just sits beside Duck, closer than is probably strictly necessary. He starts drawing in the dirt, and nobody has business being that good an artist with a twig.

He figures that's as good a signal as any to get to the point. “Anyway, Aubrey finally got sick of it and snapped back, like ‘Jesus, Duck. When’s the last time you got laid?’ And I just up and left. I couldn’t fuckin’ believe she’d ask that. Then Ned laughed, and I just couldn’t deal.”

Indrid has a knuckle to his mouth, face tilted away. “Have you brought it up with them?”

That’s the last thing he wants to do. “Nah, not yet. Tried talkin’ to Juno about it, but she didn’t get why I was so upset. She said I was blowin’ it outta proportion, but, I mean, she an’ Tom have been married for like 15 years now. And ‘course Aubrey’s got Dani, and I think Ned’s maybe been seein’ someone too.”

Indrid’s quiet. He adds some detail to the already stupidly-realistic stag he’s drawing, then jerks his head upwards. There’s rustling in the trees. The seer’s smile drops.

Duck looks to see what he’s staring at, but nothing’s there.

Indrid stares off into the distance for a while longer, expression inscrutable, before he shakes out of his trance. Still refusing to look at Duck, he tilts his ear towards the ranger instead. “Why does it matter if the others are partnered?”

Duck isn’t an artist, but he still feels like contributing. He picks up a stick of his own and reaches across to add a few birds flying over the deer’s head. They’re just the flattened “w”s of a kid’s drawing, but his addition pulls the corners of Indrid’s lips up just a little further, so it’s worth it. “I dunno, it just seemed kinda unfair. Like bein’ the only single guy on Valentine’s and havin’ everyone else gang up on you to try and get you a date.”

“Do you wish you had a significant other?”

Duck seriously considers the question. "Can't say I usually give it much thought, but..." If he's honest with himself, he doesn't normally _let_ himself think about it. It's kind of a depressing subject for him, and now moreso than ever. "I'm gonna turn 45 this year, an' I can't pretend I ain't old anymore. Not when I feel like this. Bein' a pathetic old bachelor is just icin' on the cake, y'know? And havin' Aubrey of all people bring attention to it...." Aubrey, with her boundless enthusiasm, and her deep love for her magic and her rabbit and her girlfriend. Aubrey, who is probably one of the coolest people he knows, despite the fact that she's like half his age. Aubrey, next to whom he looks even more drab and mediocre.

"I don't see why it's any of their business."

"It ain't! And sometimes it feels like only other single people get that. That's why I came to you. I guess, I mean Leo mighta been cool, but this doesn't feel like something I can talk to him about." As cool as Leo is, he's like an uncle or something. Besides, Duck's not sure he'd actually know it if Leo had someone, since most of their convos are either about Chosen stuff, or small talk at the store.

Actually, come to think of it-- "Shit, unless I'm wrong. You're not datin' someone, are you? I just realized I don't actually know for sure...."

"No, Duck." Indrid's smirk is pure mischief. "I'm a pathetic old bachelor, too."

"Fuck! That's not what I--shit!" Why is he like this? Just why? "Goddamnit, Duck, can't even fuckin' have a chat with a guy without dunkin' it up and insultin' him...."

Indrid is laughing at him, but he has the courtesy to try to stifle it. "It's fine. I'm not upset. It's true, after all."

He can feel his whole face heating up, and he tries to hide his blush. A hand settles surprisingly carefully on his shoulder and rubs in soothing circles. He's still embarrassed, but some of the tension leaks out of him.

"I'm glad you felt you could come to me with this." His voice sounds so nakedly vulnerable. How few people have ever talked to him like Duck is now?

It makes him want to open up more, and he pushes his own shame down. "Can I tell ya' somethin' real personal?"

"If you want to."

He does, even though he barely thinks about this when he's alone, much less around other people. "Sex has always been a weird subject for me, for a lotta reasons. Half the reason I walked on lunch was just...it felt real invasive. Kinda made my skin crawl."

"It is a very private thing to be asked, particularly out of the blue."

He nods. "I used to get called a prude a lot, growin' up. It's not that, it's just--" He sets his gaze skyward. He isn't sure if he believes in a God, or if he even wants there to be one, but there are things out there--Sylvain, Miralaviniax 5, and who knows what else--and maybe whatever powers that be could be nice to him, just this once. Maybe Indrid will understand what he's getting at, instead of jumping to conclusions. "I haven't always been comfortable in my own skin, and after Minerva showed up it didn't really feel like I could let anyone in. Dated a few people since then, yeah, but it never really...mattered. Couldn't afford for it to." Does that make him a jerk? That probably makes him a jerk. His last ex sure seemed to think so.

Indrid's hand traces down the back of Duck's arm and then drops. "You had the luxury of normal relationships stolen from you at a young age, and now you've lost so much more. I think it's natural to be upset."

"Yeah. I know Aubrey wasn't tryin' to rub it in, but it still--it fuckin' blew, man."

"Was it just that question that bothered you?"

He wishes it were. That'd be justified. But the rest? He's not so sure. At least if he's being unreasonable, Indrid might let him down easy. "You know, I think the whole thing has. This whole deal with them tryin' to cheer me up. Is that wrong a' me?" After asking, he finds he's more scared of the answer than he thought he was. "I know it's kinda shitty, to be pissed at my friends 'cause they want me to be happy."

"I'd find it frustrating. I think I'd wonder at which point it stopped being about me at all."

It's times like these that he seriously wonders if Indrid is wrong about not being able to read minds, because even Duck didn't realize he was thinking that. But now that it's been said, it's like a light goes on in his head, and a piece falls into place. He doesn't really know what to say, so he peeks up from his shitty doodling to look at Indrid.

He's shivering. 

"You look cold."

"I'm used to it." He offers a smile. "If I couldn't handle being chilly, I'd be barely functional."

He can't say he much cares for the implications of that. "Still shouldn't have to freeze your ass off for my sake. Come on, let's head back to your 'bago. I'll take a turn bein' too hot."

Indrid chuckles softly. "I'll turn a couple of heaters off for you."

Duck gets up and offers a hand. Indrid pulls so little that Duck isn't sure if he only took the help out of courtesy and got up mostly by his own accord, or if he weighs almost nothing. It scares him a little, and puts new doubts in his mind. "You sure?"

The corners of Indrid's mouth twitch upwards. His eyes are probably crinkling behind his glasses, or at least Duck would like to think they are. "Yes, I can always turn them back on when you're ready to go." His microexpressions are just so _fascinating_. The tension leaves his face slowly and his lips part, and he gazes off in some direction Duck can't track. "Hold on a moment." His hands do that fluttering thing they do when he's searching for something, and then he gasps, face dawning into a brilliant grin.

"What's up?"

"Come with me. We need to make a stop first."

Duck probably shouldn't be surprised, and yet he is. He's also really, really curious. He knows how to pick through the underbrush from years of practice, and for a while he can keep up with Indrid easily. Then Indrid perks up, and his long, long legs carry him the rest of the way to an ash tree.

Duck ends up lagging even further behind when he feels the newly familiar burn of an oncoming asthma attack. He has to force himself not to pant and make it worse. He doesn't have an inhaler. He shouldn't fucking need an inhaler. _Deep breath in through the nose, and release._

The asthma stops mattering, when he notices why they came.

It's a butterfly. Indrid's found a butterfly, just starting to peek out of its chrysalis. Duck has never seen a butterfly eclose in person, not even when he raised a monarch in his room as a teen. He failed at convincing his mom he was sick that morning, and he had to go to school. "Aw, cool! I always miss this! Is that an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail? Looks like it's got dark wings, so it's a female if it is." It takes a lot of restraint to not start gushing about the rarity of the dark morph, and how much more special that makes this.

Then Indrid huddles in at his right side, and something about the proximity makes his excitement over this whole thing bubble over. He can't help showing off what he knows. Indrid's excited too, right? He _seems_ excited, the way he just gets closer as Duck lists fact after fact, and--

"Duck," Indrid says.

His mouth snaps shut halfway through talking about honeysuckle and milkweed, even though he hasn't gotten to the really great part about how if you know where to find them growing in the Monongahela, you can sometimes catch entire kaleidoscopes of butterflies dancing through the air. He really shouldn't ramble. "Yeah?"

"Hold your hand straight out," Indrid does so himself with his left hand, arm around Duck but not touching, "and press your fingertips against the branch above our new friend here." He points at the spot, then settles his hand on Duck's shoulder.

Duck does, and his already-pounding heart goes haywire when the butterfly curiously examines his fingers with her antennae, then climbs to hang off him. He's going a little lightheaded by the time she's ready to fly. She gives him a little goodbye circle before she goes, and he waves back. He manages not to squeal, but only just. "That was amazin', Indrid."

"It worked out." He sounds bashful. "I scared off the deer I was drawing earlier before you could see it, and I felt bad. I think perhaps this was better."

"Thanks." He's about to agree and say he sees deer all the time, when he turns and finds that Indrid's shivering even harder than he was before. No more dawdling, then. "Come on. Let's get you inside." He will drag Indrid back to the 'bago if he has to, and he practically does just that. When they arrive, he takes a good look around. "You cleaned up."

"Yes, I figure I ought to start putting some effort into keeping things presentable, if I'm going to continue having guests."

"It looks good, man." And it really does. It actually looks like a home, and Duck is relieved that Indrid is keeping things cleaner so he doesn't make himself sick from spoiled nog or cause more of a fire hazard with all the discarded paper. He hopes it's nice for Indrid, too.

"Do you want something to eat, or drink?"

"Gimme a nog."

Indrid's laugh is more of a splutter. "Are you sure? I bought soda, and some light snacks."

He's not even kidding when he says, "It just feels wrong to come to your place and not have nog now." It's practically a tradition, by this point.

The look Indrid gives him is almost childish. "Well, I guess I'll save the sodas for Aubrey and Ned, then." He finishes up with his hosting and settles comfortably next to Duck on the couch.

Duck lets himself relax, too, and his earlier weariness floods back with a vengeance. He sips the eggnog and just takes a moment to let himself be. He decides to try something, and hopes it doesn't backfire. "Hey, Indrid? Is it cool if I'm, like, still not okay?"

"Duck, I'm not so presumptuous to think that I know better how to cheer you up than Aubrey or Ned do, and surely not more than your best friend would."

It strikes Duck as odd that Indrid would word it that way, like they aren't quite talking about the same thing.

"No," he continues, "I just don't often get to use my powers for something so...innocuous. When I failed to take advantage of the first stroke of good fortune, I wanted to try again. That's all."

"Well, it was real nice, and I sure am grateful for it. It just," Indrid's voice joins his to finish, "doesn't fix it."

And it clicks. Indrid knew. He wasn't _trying_ to fix it, and Duck doesn't need to act okay for him. But then why? Why would he go through the trouble to spend more time in the cold for Duck's sake?

"Duck, I know better than most that things like this can't be fixed. Sometimes, you just have to admit to yourself that it's awful and you don't like it, and then do your best to move on and keep living."

It's like a knife to the chest, but it rings so true that it makes his spine straighten. "I fuckin' hate this. It blows."

There's no shock in Indrid's response, no shying away from Duck's discontent. He just calmly agrees, "Yes it does. I'm sorry."

Duck has to put his drink down so he doesn't spill it, and he's too tired to sit all the way back up. "I wish I could fix it, you know?"

"I do."

Those two words work something loose in him, and it comes out in a shudder and a sigh and a wetness down his cheeks.

"Unfortunately," and Indrid speaks with the stony resignation of a man who's stared his demons down, "anything you do to try and repair what's been broken in you is likely to be more than a little inadequate. Trying to paste over the cracks is like using a Band-aid for a broken arm. Duck," there's a hitch in his composure at the name, "this isn't what I want to tell you. I wish I had an answer that would make this easier on you, but I don't. The sooner you accept how much you're hurting and mourn what's been lost, the more able you'll be to cope."

"Is that what you do?"

"I try. I don't always succeed, and I surely don't claim to be good at this. But I've lived with unpleasant truths for a very long time, and the days where I'm more willing to accept the reality of my situation are the days when I can appreciate moments like earlier for what they are, instead of what I _wish_ they were."

He thinks about the butterfly, of that brief flash of light through the dark fog. There had been a moment in there, where he'd forgotten he was supposed to be upset, where he even forgot that he was trying not to be. He's safe here, he realizes, to just feel whatever it is he's actually feeling. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"The little moments aren't a cure, but, well--" he gently nudges Duck's shoulder. "They're nice, aren't they?"

He looks at Indrid, and for perhaps the first time he sees past the human face, to the sylph who's lived with a mind full of death for at least a century. And within Duck there's awe, and the terror that comes from staring into the void of the unfamiliar. 

Mostly, there's gratitude.

Indrid didn't have to listen. He didn't have to talk Duck through all this, when he's got so much of his own shit to worry about, and yet here he is, and his smile is sad, and kind, and understanding.

"Thanks, Indrid." And where he would have normally ended it there, he finds himself drawn to continue, to get all of his thoughts out in the open. "I guess that's why all that stuff bothered me so much."

"Oh?"

"I guess I felt like they were turnin' me into a DIY project. 'Give 'im a makeover and some good food, get 'im a date, get 'im laid. That'll make 'im better.' Just made me wanna scream at 'em." He lets himself be angry. "I was havin' trouble enjoyin' myself, even when we were doin' stuff I like. Just kept feelin' like I had to paste on this smile so they'd stop thinkin' of me as a big ol' downer, but they wouldn't buy it. And I know they meant well, I just...."

"Acceptance is a difficult thing, for humans and sylphs alike." The glasses are an impenetrable mirror, and yet the intensity and stillness of his expression makes Duck absolutely sure Indrid is looking directly into his eyes. "Nobody ever wants to hear bad news, especially when it comes to someone they care about. They likely don't want to face the truth of your situation any more than you do."

It doesn't make it better, but if it's true then maybe he doesn't really have to pretend anymore. That thought untangles another knot somewhere in him and his whole body goes boneless. Gravity pulls him back against the cushions of Indrid's fold-out sofa. There's one more worry he hasn't mentioned to anyone yet. He's not comfortable talking about it with Ned and Aubrey, and he _can't_ tell Juno or Jane. He knows he should talk to Leo, but the guy's probably more torn up about it than he is and if Duck's being real with himself he couldn't cope right now with comforting someone else.

Duck didn't trust Indrid when they first met. To be fair, Indrid _is_ a morbid, unkempt man living alone in a dirty motorhome in the woods, who delivers dire prophecies and happens to also be an objectively terrifying giant moth monster. Most people would be unnerved, and Indrid himself has claimed that scaring people off has been a lifelong problem for him. But after a while it's hard to be afraid of the guy. He's eccentric, sure, and possibly the only person Duck's ever met who's worse at social interaction than he is.

But Indrid is genuine, is the thing. He tries to bury his pain behind the glasses and the chipper protective veneer, but it never quite works. His mask is always fraying at the edges and can never fully hide what's underneath, and as a guy who is equally incapable of lying Duck finds that strangely comforting. So it's to Indrid that he says this final secret, the one that's been giving him nightmares for the past few weeks. "Wish I at least knew if Minerva was okay. Not that we were real close or anythin'--hell, I learned the most about her the night her fuckin' planet got blasted with a meteor--but I still want her to be safe, y'know?"

Indrid lets his smile drop fully when he takes Duck's hand and leans in closer.

And Duck trusts him. He really does. He squeezes to let the sylph know it's appreciated. "You can't see anything about her, can you? You'd tell me if y'could, right?" He already knows the answer--no future sight required. He just wants to hear it from Indrid.

"I'll let you know if I find anything, but no. I don't know her fate any more than you do. I'm sorry." And it sucks. It really sucks to remember that Indrid doesn't have all the answers. At the same time, though, knowing he cares because Duck does really means a lot, and it makes things hurt just that little bit less.

He's not quite crying, but he has to sniff to keep from dripping snot on himself. Gross.

"Hold on. I don't have tissues, but I'll grab you a clean roll of toilet paper?" He gets up and dips into his tiny bathroom, then hands over the roll and takes Duck's hand in both of his. They're long, and bony, and cold without the gloves. Somehow, they feel like a salve.

Duck keeps his head bowed, not so Indrid can't see him, but so he won't glimpse his own reflection in the seer's spectacles. "Hey, Indrid, would it be weird to ask ya' to hold me?"

Indrid lets go of his hand, only to wrap him up in his arms. Fingers settle on Duck's side and the base of his skull, and guide him close.

Duck presses in, legs tucked easily under Indrid's longer ones, face buried in the crook of his neck. Somehow he finds the comfort he needs in the chill touch of this strange being he's grown to think of as a friend.

Somehow, Indrid's presence sucks out the poison that's been building in his veins.

Somehow, Duck lets himself grieve the things he's spent so many years escaping.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♥ If you want to check me out on other sites:  
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